


It's Harder to Breathe When There's Earth in Your Mouth

by resident_longwinded_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Prayer, SPN 3.02 The Kids Are Alright, SPN 3.08 A Very Supernatural Christmas, Stars, mostly pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resident_longwinded_anon/pseuds/resident_longwinded_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after he makes his deal, Dean prays for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Harder to Breathe When There's Earth in Your Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted over on [my Tumblr](http://resident-longwinded-anon.tumblr.com/post/116270902791/its-harder-to-breathe-when-theres-earth-in-your).
> 
> Title from "Halfway to Hell" by Sheppard. ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3lK_lTgxAU))
> 
> Takes place from the end of season 2 through the beginning of season 4, goes canon divergent right at the end. There is no Cas/Other or Dean/Other in this fic, though it stands to reason that any sex Dean had it season 3 would still take place in the universe of this fic. Warning for non-graphic torture and lots of swearing.
> 
> If you have any constructive criticism regarding Dean's voice, please let me know!

The night after he makes his deal, Dean prays for the first time. He waits until Sam and Bobby are asleep, and he sneaks out into the salvage yard. He finds a 1982 bright blue Toyota Camry and sits in the passenger seat.

"Uh, hey,” he says, gaze fixed on a bluish star out the side window. “I dunno if you can hear me. But, uh, well, I did something stupid. I don’t - I mean, I don’t regret it, ‘cause Sammy’s … Sammy’s more important than me. But - well, if there’s a Hell, there’s gotta be a Heaven, right?” His voice breaks; he curses it. “I know I’m not gonna see it, but it … well, it would be nice to know it’s out there. Are you - are you listening?”

The star twinkles.

“This is stupid, believe me, I know, but - what else can I do? I’m not really looking forward to an eternity of torture - ” His voice breaks again. He stops talking. The star keeps twinkling.

It was a stupid idea anyway.

~

“Uh, hey. It’s been a while, huh? Did you - did you see Ben, earlier? He was so damn brave. I could swear, he looks just like I did at that age.”

Dean’s not even sure it’s the same star, but he can’t help but talk to it. He’s still got eleven months, he keeps telling himself. 334 days. That’s plenty of time. They’ll find something. He’s beaten death twice, he can do it again.

“Are there welcome parties in Hell?” He makes a sound that’s supposed to be a laugh, but it tastes more like a sob. “I guess you wouldn’t know, huh? Hardly a tourist destination. 'Hey Mom, hey Dad, I hope this postcard finds you well. The view of flaming pits of torment is gonna make a great counterpoint to all the aquarium ones in your collection. Sincerely, whoever is stupid enough to listen to Dean Winchester’s prayers.”

Sam opens the car door. “Were you talking to someone?” Dean didn’t even notice him exit the rest stop.

“Just myself,” Dean says, and clenches his hands around the steering wheel.

~

“Today’s the anniversary of my mom’s death. I have six months left. What would you do if you only had six months left? I mean, I guess you’re immortal, whoever you are. You probably can’t say.”

There’s a long pause, the only sound the rain pattering on the car roof.

“That’s a question, though. Did Jesus know when his death date was? Did he, like, throw a party or something? 'I’ve got one year left to live! No, Peter, there isn’t any wine. At least - there wasn’t.’” He laughs weakly to himself.

He can’t see the star, his star, but he knows it’s somewhere to his left. “God, there are all those books and movies about how people act when they know they’re gonna die. They go to Paris, have great sex, write a book. All the things they wish they’d already done in life. What am I doing? Brooding at a star. God. I’m useless.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but the thought crosses his mind - _At least the world will be rid of me soon._

~

“Merry Christmas. 132 days.”

~

“I’m officially in the single digits. 99 days, baby.”

~

“I woke up this morning and Sam looked so happy to see me. I swear to God that I’m going to kill the shit out of that Trickster. I actually - I’ve got a question.”

He’s sitting on the hood of the car. Sam’s sleeping in the motel. He had to sneak out in order to get a moment’s peace, and even now he’s a little afraid some nutjob with a gun is going to come raging out of the trees across the street.

“Where was I? I mean, did that reality only exist inside Sam’s head, or was I actually in Hell for six months? Did I actually die all those times? Am I - will I ever remember it? Ha, maybe that’s one of Hell’s tortures. 'Welcome back, fucker.’”

He leans back against the windshield. The stars are especially bright tonight, and his is easy to pick out. “Hey,” he says, quietly. “How’s it going?”

As always, there’s no response. Dean gives the star a bitter smile.

~

“So you’re officially a crock of shit. We thought - earlier today - God, why am I telling you? Do you even fucking care? Are you even fucking _there_? Could you ever just listen to my goddamn prayers?”

He’s crying now, not even bothering to hide it. “I thought I was out, I honestly thought I was out. When I heard Dad’s voice I - but there was nothing. I got less than a month left on this Earth, and I thought I was resigned to that, but - oh, fuck, hope sucks, okay? Just strike me from existence already, that would be better for all of us. Fuck this. _Fuck_ this! _FUCK this!_ ”

~

“10 days.”

~

“5 days.”

~

“3.”

~

“2.”

~

“Today. It’s happening today. I guess - goodbye.”

~

_Everything hurts. I’m barely able to think. You still listening? You still listening, you fucker? Were you ever listening?_

~

“No, no, stop, please, God, please, stop, no! No, no, help, somebody help, I can’t do this any long - aaaaaa _aaaaahhhh_!!!”

~

_Anything but this. Oh dear God, please let it be anything but this._

~

_So - this is a real goodbye, then._

“Get me the fuck down from here.”

~

_Oh, if you could see me now._

~

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Castiel. I’m here to save you.”

The thing that was once named Dean tilts its head back and laughs. “Save me from what?”

The light-creature steps forward and once-Dean shrinks back. His eyes haven’t hurt like this for ten years, since Alistair scooped them out with a melon baller soaked in acid. “Look around you. This is Hell.”

“Oh, wow, thanks for clearing that up. Here I was thinking we were in Tahiti, I had no idea.”

“Dean - ”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t you recognize me?”

“Hm, no, can’t recall ever seeing a six-eyed monster. But you know, it’s a busy life, maybe I’ve forgotten you.”

“Dean.” The light-creature steps forward, reaches out, fixes a hand to Dean’s shoulder. “Remember me.”

“Okay, fucker, lemme tell you about a little thing called personal - ”

_\- a black car with someone crumpled up in the backseat crying - two men, one tall, one taller - a black sky sprinkled with stars - a particular star - dim blue light shining from fallen tears - a laughing face he knows he should recognize - life - death - death - death - blue -_ blue -

“You,” he gasps.

“Yes. Me.” The light-creature - Castiel - his star wraps his arms around him.

Dean dissolves into the light.

~

“So. You were the dude who heard all my prayers.”

“Mm, yes.”

“I was a whiny little butt, wasn’t I?”

“I hardly think, given the circumstances - ”

“Hey, let me finish. I just - I want to say thank you. So thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Cas, uh - ah, shit. Can I kiss you?”

“Of course.”


End file.
